“They pushed for it?” she asked quietly, almost mocking, “but you are the one who has the final say in your company. No decision happens without you. So why did you agree?”
He did not look surprised. If anything, he looked prepared.
“You are right,” he nodded. “I would never want a Goel sitting on my company’s board. But I still agreed because I want to prove to Rajat and Abhimanyu, in fact, to everyone…that you are not fit for this role. Just as you are not fit for my world.Karan Wadhwa’s world.”
His gaze dropped briefly to the untouched glass in her hand before returning to her face.
“Just as you are not fit to even share a celebratory drink with your husband.”
Mishti felt the words land like blows, each one meant to wound. She stood there, surrounded by applause and smiles, holding a glass she had no intention of drinking, while the man who had just elevated her in front of the world stripped her bare with his harsh words again in private.
Karan’s eyes lingered on her a second longer than necessary, the faint curve of his mouth making it painfully clear that he was enjoying this…cornering her, reminding her that inhisworld she would always fall short. Mishti had no intention of proving him wrong, yet the way he delivered those words pierced in her heart.
Before he could look away, before doubt could stop her, she lifted the glass to her lips and swallowed the champagne in one desperate go.
The burn was immediate. It scraped its way down her throat, making her eyes sting.
Karan froze in shock. She blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears spill in front of him, then set the empty glass aside with a trembling hand and turned away, walking past her husband without looking back.
Rajat and Abhimanyu, who had been watching from a distance, exchanged uneasy glances, instinctively wanting to follow her, but a client intercepted them with urgent conversation, and courtesy forced them to stay back.
It was Komal who did not wait.
She followed Mishti and found her near the small fountain at the far end of the garden, away from the music, laughter and people. Mishti stood there, crying silently, her hands clenched at her sides as though holding herself together took every ounce of strength she had. Komal wrapped her arms around her without a word, holding her close. She had seen enough tonight to know who was responsible, and anger flared in her chest toward Karan for pushing Mishti yet again.
“Why?” Mishti finally broke, her voice rising as she scolded herself through sobs. She had always been spiritual, someone who believed deeply in her prayers and had vowed to stay away from alcohol. She had followed that choice with devotion, never tempted, never curious, never swayed, even when friends teased her at parties or insisted she try just a sip. Tonight, one cruel remark from Karan about her not being worthy of sharing even a celebratory drink with her husband had shattered years of resolve.
Because somewhere deep inside, she had wanted to prove that she was capable of being his wife, that she was not beneath him, that she belonged beside him despite everything he believed about her. He had not forced her, yet his words had pushed her into breaking her own principles.
Now her throat burned, her stomach churned violently. Tears streamed down her face, the humiliation mixing with a physical discomfort she had never known before.
Komal hushed her softly, rubbing slow circles against her back. “It is okay, Mishti. Stop crying. You did not have to do this for anyone. He provoked you, and you let him win this time.”
She wiped Mishti’s tears gently, curbing her frustration. “You know Karan, don’t you? I cannot understand why you keep bending for his cruelty.”
Mishti barely heard her. The world seemed to tilt. The champagne, taken on an empty stomach and mixed with the painkillers Komal herself had prescribed for the bruises and internal soreness from the accident weeks ago, hit her system hard. A wave of dizziness rolled through her, followed by nausea so strong it made her gag.
Her knees buckled.
Komal caught her just in time and helped her sit on a small wooden bench near the fountain. Mishti’s skin had gone pale, her head spinning as though the world refused to stay still.
“Stay here,” Komal said firmly, but in panic. “I will get you some lime water. It will help. Do not move, okay?”
Mishti nodded weakly, forcing her eyes open even though the effort made her head throb. Komal hurried away.
Left alone, the dizziness worsened. The smell of alcohol lingered in her mouth, making her stomach revolt. And just when she thought it could not get worse, Karan’s merciless words surfaced again, striking the same wound. She stood up unsteadily, needing air, needing distance from everything. But as she took one step forward, she collided with someone solid.
A pair of strong arms steadied her.
“Why?” she muttered, her forehead resting briefly against his chest. “Why do you always do this to me?” Her words slurred.
She had no idea who she was pouring her heart out to. She barely registered that it was none other than her husband,Karan.
After she had walked away from the party, Karan found it impossible to remain inside. He knew that it had been her first drink. He knew why she had done it, too.To prove that she could belong in his world if she chose to. To prove him wrong.
He had seen Komal rush after Mishti. It meant she was safe. The doctor would take care of her, and he had no reason to follow. Yet, his feet carried him out anyway.
He stayed hidden at a distance, far enough that neither woman noticed him, watching Mishti break down in Komal’s arms, sobbing, and cursing herself for giving in to his provocation. He had not expected that sight to touch him. He had not expected her tears to matter. But something shifted in his heart seeing her in that state.
